


Ars Moriendi

by retrovertigo (ellameno)



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Between movie scenes, Brotherhood, Child Soldiers, Cults, Gen, Male Friendship, Max appears but doesn't speak, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Original Character(s), Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Rivalry, Terminal Illnesses, War Boy Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6291751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellameno/pseuds/retrovertigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nux and company prepare for his final ride on the Fury Road. My take on what happens between Nux and Slit's first scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ars Moriendi

**Author's Note:**

> I vaguely reference [What You Are To Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6256993), another MMFR fic of mine, in this. It's not required reading but will add more context.

“Do you really think it’s fair that Nux gets to take a _universal donor_ onto the Road?” A sidelined War Boy griped childishly.

He was brawny but sporting a broken arm and a bandaged head. He tagged closely behind Slit and the Organic Mechanic, who were wheeling the muzzled blood bag on a large hand-truck.

“Get outta here, ya drongo.” Slit sneered back at him. “You’re just jealous of us.”

“He’s so scraggy ---”

“Look Sprok-o, this lil’ one might not be a brute like you, but he’s up there with the best drivers I ever seen.” The doctor replied.

“What, ‘cos he drives backwards? Oooh, _how keen_.” Sprok said sarcastically.

“Yeah and no one’s done it that well since ol’ Zepp, who was before your time. And he’s the best black-thumb we’ve got.” Organic countered. “So if we keeps a bloke of his talent from dyin’ soft then it’s worth it to the Immortan.”

Nux laughed deliriously, strutting in front of them, steering wheel in hand. He was still woozy but fighting it with all his will, feeling the adrenaline from his crazed blood bag pumping through his veins. He sported the leather jacket the donor once wore, like new flashy armor to don in battle.

“I will make the Immortan proud.” Nux proclaimed. “They will speak my name in all the legends.”

“See, this kid is goin’ places. Valhalla specifically.”

“He’s only been a War Boy for a smidge---” Sprok argued.

“Exactly.” Organic interrupted. “Y’could learn somethin’, sunshine.”

“Try to keep up with us.” Nux taunted, reveling in finally being able to tell off one of his naysayers.

“ _Mediocre, Sprokky._ ” Slit hissed, grinning ear to ear.

The wounded soldier huffed enviously and muttered curses as he marched back to the infirmary.

\---

The trio (and blood bag) entered the series of interconnected caves that served as the armada’s garage. They all led to a larger chamber, riddled with commotion and emptying out fast.

Black-thumbs frantically fixing cars. The acridity of rubber, exhaust, and fresh motor oil. Echoing clangs and engine backfires. Shouts, hoots, and cackles erupting from the fellow War Boys, ready to take on an Imperator gone rogue. All of it was like a shot of pure guzzeline to the child soldier's palpitating heart.

Nux ran his hand along the bare metal of his gorgeous coupe. He’d salvaged and assembled the vehicle himself, christening it with his own name so no one could mistake who built her. She was a kamikrazee death machine; a drivable bomb expertly modified to reach the highest speeds in the fleet, even while in reverse. She was a masterpiece, his labor of love. Now her shining hour had finally come.

“Oy! The Nux Car needs a Repair Boy! Where’s my Cobber?” He shouted over the din for his former mentee. “Cobb-- _ah_...”

Nux got dizzy from a lack of air in his weak lungs and lost his balance slightly. He was so swept up in the excitement that he was overdoing it. He steadied himself against his car, waiting for his vision to clear and the buzzies to leave his head.

“Honestly Nux, if you can’t handle it just chuck a sickie and go home.” Slit scolded, getting annoyed with his ailing partner once again. “I don’t want you keeling over at the wheel and us both dying for bugger all.”

“I can’t, I won’t.” Nux said between strained breaths. “I never give up.”

“You got this far!” Chirped his Repair Boy, only a few years past ten, now eagerly inspecting the engine. Nux beamed in his general direction, though all he saw was stars.

“Belt up, ya runt!” Slit barked at the kid. “Don’t encourage him.”

"But I just--" The kid started.

"Ignore him, Cobbs." Nux panted, waving a hand.

"Ignore _him_." Slit ordered, growing moodier by the minute.

Slit stood at the front of the vehicle. He checked the stability of his thundersticks, as the surgeon began binding the donor to the cross beside them.

“That a new blood bag?” Cobber asked in wonder.

“Whazzit look like?” The Organic Mechanic razzed, then added: “Universal too.”

“Nux, you’re so _shiny_.” The boy fawned.

The lancer made a dismissive noise, then pettishly turned heel to examine his weapons on the back.

“Slit...” Nux grabbed gently onto his comrade’s arm as he passed.

“What?” Slit growled.

“I’m gonna die today.” Nux stated, awestruck, as if it were just sinking in.

“ _Shocker._ I’ve been expecting you to kick it for a week now.”

“No, no, on the _Fury Road_.” His eyes glittered.

Nux couldn’t believe it was actually _time_. He’d finally be free of his hellish flesh prison, no longer stricken with pain and illness. In Valhalla food would be bountiful, water clean and plenty. He’d see Mozzi and Loc and good ol' Ganz; all of his friends and brothers in arms who died before him. He’d meet legends like Bonza and Skite, and maybe even be counted among them back on earth. Oh he hoped with all his soul the story of his final drive would be worthy of ink on the skins of History Men.

“My whole life’s been leading up to this.” Nux mused.

“Uh yeah, all of ours have.” Slit scoffed. “It’s our _divine purpose_.”

“Are you gonna miss me?” Nux asked.

“Like a tack in my arse.” Slit bit back.

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet again. As long as _you_ don’t die soft.”

Slit narrowed his eyes. “I’m fitter than a bull.”

“Your wonky ear says different.” Nux teased.

“Look who’s talking, _lumpo._ ” Slit said, albeit with a smirk.

“Blood bag’s ready, kiddies.” The Organic Mechanic leered at the prisoner, prodding him with a screwdriver.

The donor shouted something back, but it was indecipherable. Most likely ramblings of a mad man.

“Ohhh, I can feel it now.” Nux said, vitality beginning to fill him again. “Taking out a traitor... it’s gonna be like a speeding bullet straight to Valhalla, I know it.”

“Sure.” Slit responded distantly, eyeing the crowd. “Let’s get a damn move on, boys!” He then yelled at the line of idling cars starting to build.

Nux frowned, wishing his own lancer and childhood friend would be more enthusiastic about his high-octane ride to the afterlife. He was constantly reminded their bond wasn't as deep as what the other boys had. It had been at first, but fizzled as they got older. He figured it might be an envy of Nux’s position as driver, a role Slit coveted. Nux tried a different approach, appealing to Slit’s self-interest.

“What about you, Slit? You wanna die with me today?” Nux asked, climbing into the cab. “Historic, together? It’s the perfect opportunity.”

“We’ll see.” Slit answered evasively. Nux sighed and popped his steering wheel into place.

“She’s fit to go!” The Repair Boy called.

“Thanks Cobbs.” Nux replied, smile returning. At least the pups were like kin to him.

“I’ll miss the Nux Car, _and_ her driver.” The young black-thumb said as he approached the window, offering his hand. Nux clasped it tight with brotherly affection. Slit rolled his eyes and hopped onto his perch in the back.

“If you work hard, just like me, then I’ll see you in Valhalla.” Nux said encouragingly. He had trained Cobber back when he was still a Repair Boy himself, and knew the kid wished to follow in his footsteps.

“I’ll make you proud.”

“Good on ya--”

Slit banged on the roof. “She’s prolly two-hundred clicks gone by now, let’s _go_.”

" _'Ars Moriendi'_ , lads, and _bene morimini._ " The Organic Mechanic bid them causally.

Cobber gave the older boys a V8 salute and stepped back, eyes shimmering as he beheld his heroes fire up their war machine for a final time.

Nux revved his engine and took one last sweeping look at the cavern. The Citadel had been his only home for as long as he could remember, but he knew he’d never return. It'd been a hard fight, but he was here. He hadn't died soft like so many expected. Destiny was _finally_ his to seize. It was tangible, and in the form of the War Rig, no less. As he drove into the blinding white light at the mouth of the cave, he was rapt with euphoria.

At last, after ten years and summore, he was off to a better place.

**Author's Note:**

> "Ars Moriendi" is an ancient Latin text on "the art of dying". "Bene morimini' is Latin for "die well" (to multiple recipients).


End file.
